


He Remembers

by FloodFeSTeR



Category: Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Drabble, Memories, Nostalgia, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:06:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: They would receive no privilege, no recognition.And neither would she.But he would remember./ a drabble for an upcoming story /





	

**Author's Note:**

> As it says, this will be a part of a future story, and I hope you will all enjoy <3
> 
> There's sort of a hinted relationship here, that's why I tagged it, but also not really?

When they spar, he remembers.

_"Chin up kid, what are they teaching you in here?"_

With every flick of her auburn hair, he remembers black tresses slicked back with sweat. With every curve of her full lips, he remembers the grin that came with a charge. With every strike against his ribs, he remembers the bloody tape always around bruises knuckles.

He remembers _her_.

_"Come on, Maxson! If you're gonna lead these men, ya gotta know how to fight in every direction!"_

He remembers the scolding looks, the prodigy of the Brotherhood, sparring with what they deemed 'as good as any other raider out there'. He remembers the way people scolded when she taught him how to pickpocket, how to sneak, how to survive without that damnable power armor they all seemed so keen on using in every fight. 

_"It falls apart! I went years in the Wasteland with nothing but some flimsy leathers, and people have gone further with less!"_

When a punch clocks him in the jaw -- featherlite, compared to the hammer she used to bring down -- he doesn't even stumble, doesn't hesitate.

He remembers it all, every smidgen of detail from the freckles above her eyes, to the way they shone in the light of sugar bombs. He remembers her fondness for Jangles, and two mutants she called friends; he remembers those scolding looms as well, when he marveled at the way the mutants helped dismantle parts for the purifier, at the Base. He remembers the way everyone flicked away her mercenaries, an old raider and an even older ghoul, looking for their masters. A grease ball wannabe looking for his best gal, a snotty girl in a slave collar behind him. He remembers the Gutsy that now roamed base, back in familiar patrols, the loyal hound that up and disappeared into the wasteland.

When they spar, he remembers.

None of them would be thanked, not even given a nod, pushed back to the dust because the others were done with them. They would receive no privilege, no recognition.

And neither would she.

But he would remember.


End file.
